Après Moi, le Déluge
by Vivaciti
Summary: Erik is given a second and rather unwanted chance at life, courtesy of a certain Daroga. When a wedding announcement graces the headlines, Erik struggles for an ever elusive sense of closure; but with the bounty on Erik's head rising to an impressive amount, closure becomes nearly impossible as someone seems quite intent on opening old wounds…and delivering new ones.


**A/N:** Long time no write! Decided to unwind with this little ditty, and it started to take shape on its own. I'm trying something a bit different stylistically with this one, so I hope you have as much fun reading it as I will writing it. This may be a partial rework of a previous story, but we'll see how it breathes on its own. I tend to pull inspiration mostly from Susan Kay and ALW - but mostly Kay. Please enjoy!

Title translation: _"After me, the flood."_

**Disclaimer:** If I'm the true owner of Phantom, then you may call me Monsieur Leroux.

-=o0o=-

**Après Moi, le Déluge**

-=o0o=-

_**Prologue: **__**Tout le Monde Mérite…**_

_Paris, France: May, 1884_

They both should have been sleeping - or at least one of them should have been. It did not matter really; it had been months since a proper, full night's rest had been available to either occupants of the modest Rue de Rivoli flat. What was one more evening of frustrating dialogue to add to the disquiet of the past few months of rattling insomnia?

"Tell me, Daroga, before you dragged me off to Persia, was it in your job description to pester volatile individuals into acts of bloodthirsty aggression, or am I simply fortunate?"

Nadir barely batted an eye at this veiled – and ever-so common – threat from his shady counterpart. Argument had become the norm over the past few nights in particular, and his guest continued to fire such menace on a rather casual basis. "Erik, as always, you are not listening to me."

"Oh, I hear you, Daroga. If I was six feet under, I would still hear you. Nagging."

"Erik!"

"Nadir."

Heavily lidded gold eyes were turned back onto him, and the olive-skinned man pinched the bridge of his nose. The Daroga elected to ignore his guest's previous statement and caustically continued: "Nothing good can come of this. I do not understand why I care so much to stop you after all you've done. I suppose since I know you, the real, impulsive, manipulative you, I still have sense of duty to protect the public from your _profound_ stupidity."

"What joy; my personal damage control still cares for me. I truly _am_ lucky."

The masked man turned away, moonlight winking off the white leather that covered most of his face. The mask-less man drew in a breath to issue another word of warning, but he was cut short by an uncharacteristic sigh that escaped the other.

"Nadir, you owe me this much."

It was sometimes difficult to read his guest's body language, as the man was sharp when it came to such interpersonal signals. Silence drifted over the conversation as both men explored their own thoughts. Nadir's focused on Erik, and…well, the masked man's thoughts were elsewhere.

After some time, Nadir came to stand beside Erik, grasping his hands on the railing as they both gazed out the balcony window of Nadir's flat onto the very dead and dark Parisian street. Some errant clouds drifting aimlessly through the darkness briefly obstructed the brightness of the moon. Stars were scarce.

"You have a second chance. Do not waste it," Nadir warned.

The taller man issued dry chuckle. "Hm. You have an interesting definition of second chances."

"So help me, you are absolutely one of the most ungrateful people I have ever had the misfortune to know."

"Mm, apparently someone has never heard of a mercy killing," came Erik's quick response.

"I do _not_ appreciate your tone."

"And I do _not_ appreciate you meddling in my life – or death for that matter _entirely_."

Nadir's calm demeanor cracked as he pushed away from the railing, throwing up his hands as he retreated into his residence from the small balcony they had been sharing. "Damn you straight to Hell, you _ungrateful_ bastard!" he exclaimed as he paced across the drawing room, cursing a bit in Persian before whirling around. Erik had not turned to look at him, which infuriated him further. "Do you know how much I have risked for you? How much Madame Giry risked for you? _Can_ you even begin to grasp the gravity of what we have done for you?"

"Of course."

"_No, you do not!_"

Erik finally turned around and nonchalantly folded his arms. Nadir bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fists in a futile attempt to ease his anger. It was not Erik's negation of everything he said – that Nadir was used to – it was Erik's obvious indifference to the whole conversation that made him wish he had never saved his life for a _second_ time. The thought of Erik's Mazenderan escape flashed through his mind, and he blinked, unnerved by the brief but vivid recollection.

"Like I told you before, there is a secluded place in the countryside. Two days carriage ride from here. You can take it. Live out the rest of your days however you please. Use it as a starting point and move out of the country. If you can survive under an Opera House for over a decade, then you can manage elsewhere," Nadir explained, fighting the urge to deliver these words through gritted teeth.

Erik sighed again and sat down in the armchair near the window. He lounged in it, one leg out as he perched his elbow on the armrest and cradled the side of his head on his fingertips. "And how can you assure me that no one will realize who I am?" he challenged, a slightly patronizing tone creeping into his words. "You are correct about my criminal status – artistic renderings of my face are no doubt plastered from here to Rouen, Nantes even, courtesy of our _fine_ Gendarmerie. On top of their game as always when there is money to be had. I fail to see how you and Madame Giry think this is possible."

Nadir approached him, his face hard. "You need to leave Paris, Erik. If you do not, I have no doubt that you will be caught." When Erik did not reply, Nadir drew up the desk chair so that he was sitting across from Erik, who was backlit by the now clear moon that shone through the open balcony window. The Persian leaned his elbows on his knees, head hung between his shoulders.

"I did not save your life just so you could sequester yourself back inside the Opera Populaire," he mumbled.

No response from the masked man. Looking up, he saw that Erik had diverted his eyes from him and was fixated on something hanging on the wall – or perhaps he was deep in thought. Either was a possibility.

"Erik, you have so much to give to the world. This I know firsthand." Nadir paused, shook his head as he suddenly chuckled, which brought Erik's eyes back directly to his. There was a faint glimmer of curiosity there. "What? Did you really think I had no other reason for keeping you around other than a sense of obligation and time honoured damage control?" Nadir questioned as he leaned back. "Erik, you surprise me."

The statement earned a bemused twitch of a smile from the masked man. Erik rose from the chair, turning to the window once more. "Nadir, your intentions are good, and I deeply believe that you are a good man. The best of men, in fact. But your faith in me is too high, and your judgment of my character continues to be shockingly poor." Sensing the irritation from Nadir as he moved to get out of his chair, Erik thinly added: "I say this all quite lovingly, of course, as you are my only true friend."

He continued, solemnly. "What you do not understand is that _I_ do not care to offer the world anything any longer. At one time, yes, but I am far beyond the point of that green-gilled, naïve compassion for others – this you _must_ know. What continues to give you the idea that this will change, I will never understand. In that respect, you are an enigma to me, Daroga."

He turned to face Nadir who was now standing a few feet away, golden eyes directly upon him, unwavering in their gaze. Nadir shifted uncomfortably, unintentionally.

"You saved my life again, yes. You want thanks? You want my gratitude?" Erik chuckled darkly, and Nadir shifted again. "I do not know what is worse – stripping away my chance for finally releasing myself from this wretched existence or saving my life only to strip away my autonomy of how to live it. I was tired of running, Daroga. That is why I chose the Populaire as my final resting place."

Nadir was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was difficult when the Opera Ghost, the self-proclaimed Angel of Death and builder of the Maze of Mirrors was staring so intently into one's eyes. Not murderously, just…intently.

"Hear me, Daroga, I need time to think about this. …It has been only four months. I need my sanctuary." Erik tilted his head slightly. "Of course, you understand this?"

Nadir nodded and swallowed. Madame Giry would not like this at all. "Of course," he replied.

Erik smiled, hollowly at this. There was something going on behind his eyes, and, whatever it was, Nadir knew it could not be good. He was beginning to get the sense that both he and Madame Giry had made a grave error…a lapse of judgment, as Erik had pointed out.

"Fantastic." He clapped his hands together. "Ah, all this stressful banter has left my head pounding. Tell me, where did you hide the morphine this time? The mantelpiece, no doubt?"

After Nadir had left Erik to his own devices, he retired to his own quarters in his flat, not wanting to become an accessory to the masked man's addictions. When morning light woke him from his fitful slumber, Nadir found the flat completely vacant of his guest and devoid of the few possessions that had specifically marked the masked man's four month existence therein.

-=o0o=-

**A/N: As always, your reviews are greatly appreciated! Hope this little prologue has intrigued you! More to come.****  
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